


An electric keyboard is NOT a piano!

by skeevyskeeve



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeevyskeeve/pseuds/skeevyskeeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann Gottlieb has not only played piano for most of his life, but the music helps him to concentrate on what equations await answering on his chalkboard. However, he first has to convince Pentecost to find him a piano, and what Pentecost has in mind is not what he's looking for, but it will have to do. Unfortunately, an unsolved equation quickly becomes the least of Gottlieb's problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Set it to piano sounds for me.

If one could ignore the wet squelching his colleague was causing across the room, it was too quiet in the lab. Dr. Gottlieb found himself at a loss because of it, both hands rested on the head of his cane, a broken piece of chalk clasped too tightly in one, as he glared at his chalkboards. He couldn't concentrate, and worst yet, there was something missing, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. That was more frustrating to him than the actual problem itself.

“Something wrong, dude?” Newton called from his place, having noticed the lack of rapid chalk scratching and screeching when he'd paused in his own work for a moment. Hermann just quietly grunted in reply, barely having registered that the other was even talking. Geiszler shucked his gloves and wandered over, standing just next to the other as he crossed his arms on his chest. He stood there silently for a moment, just looking over the chalkboards in confusion.

“Something missing, huh?” he asked solely because he knew Hermann would only stop for that reason. There was another long moment of silence and Newton contemplated just going back to his own work, but the moment was broken by a clack of the mathematician's cane on the floor. He shook his head and headed for the doors to the lab, drawing a confused and concerned look from Newt. He opened his mouth to ask something, probably where he was going and why, but Hermann interjected before he even finished his initial inhale.  
  
“A piano,” was the only explanation given as the man shoved the doors open and left. The statement only confused the other more, though, drawing the scientist's gaze back to the chalkboards. How could an equation be missing a piano...?

* * *

Stacker Pentecost could deal with a fair amount of arguing with his underlings, but he always managed to get more than he bargained for with his two main scientists. It was usually Newton that gave him troubles, granted, but Hermann was not short on an argumentative nature when he knew he was right about something that needed action taken. He could have at least waited until after Pentecost's first cup of coffee slop, though.

“How are we expected to work seamlessly if we are not allowed enrichment, sir? I could show you statistics to central Europe and back on how productivity dramatically increases with the presence of, and ability to utilize, musical instruments versus a lack thereof and I--” Hermann had annoying habit of hitting the bottom of his cane on the concrete flooring of their cafeteria when he was trying to emphasis his point. Each thud rang in Stacker's ears for far longer than needed to as he closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub his temples in his impatience.  
  
“You don't see the potential downsides to a piano in a science lab, Dr. Gottlieb? Completely ignoring the possibility of damage to the instrument itself, I cannot afford for you, and Dr. Geiszler alike, to get distracted right n--” It was a reasonable point, he thought, but the mathematician countered effortlessly, as he should have probably expected him to.

“Distracted?! You think I'll get distracted from my work?” Pentecost sipped his coffee, doing his best not to twitch at the pointed clack from the cane as the other man took clear offense. “Let me assure you, playing the piano has always allowed me to concentrate on it further, sir, ever since I was a child. You must understand that music is the key to--”  
  
“And what about Dr. Geiszler?” Stacker interrupted, eyebrow raising at the other. Surely he knew that Newton would insist on playing with it occasionally, whether he knew how to play it or not (since he wasn't sure on that). He couldn't help his mind from delving into a vision of Newt pounding his hands on the keys like a five year old; a thought at which he grimaced as he took another sip of his coffee.  
  
“Dr. Geiszler had better keep his entrail-slimed paws off of my piano, that's for certain,” the slightly hunched man said sternly, assaulting the concrete with his cane once more as dramatic punctuation. There was a moment of silence between them before Pentecost now allowed himself to rub at his forehead, a long, clearly audible sigh pushing from his nose.  
  
“Even if I were to let you to bring one into the lab, I hope you realize that I cannot spare the expense to have your personal, grand piano shipped here from your home,” Hermann seemed to perk up a bit at the slightly backhanded way the man had agreed to his quandary.  
  
“I will settle for one closer to the Shatterdome, if it allows me access, sir,” he said softer now, knowing that he need not argue the point any more. Pentecost had agreed, whether or not he wanted to. It was pretty easy to convince someone of your point if you have good reason, and, well, a stern position on the matter.

“I don't promise you a grand, Dr. Gottlieb, but I will attempt to secure one for you.” With that, Stacker left no more room for discussion, turning and walking away. Hermann rested both hands on the top of his cane, lips pursing together to keep from smiling too widely in triumph.

* * *

“Special delivery for a Doctor Hermann Gottlieb,” A day later, Tendo mostly teased as he leaned on the door to the lab he'd come through, holding it open with the weight of his frame as two other guys carried in a large, black plastic case. Newton was the first to look up from his work, a curious look pulling onto his features. When did Hermann ever gets special deliveries? Especially that big? ...and why didn't he get one too?

“Who's it from?” the scientist would ask as the mathematician didn't even bother moving from his place in front of his half-erased chalkboards. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he was having a silent argument with the faded green surface, and the assumption was not far off. Tendo made a soft click sound from between his teeth on one side of his mouth, offering a bit of a shrug.  
  
“Pentecost,” he smirked when Hermann's head snapped to the side quick enough to realign a few vertebrae, eyes immediately searching the area. He soon looked a little put off as there wasn't a grand piano in sight, or even an upright... Instead, there were two men opening a case and setting up a metal stand in the corner. His lips pulled down into a wide frown, eyebrow raising high enough to warrant concern. Newton snorted a laugh and quietly asked how he did that with his face, but the question was ignored, thusly unanswered, as Hermann strode over to the three.  
  
“An electric keyboard is NOT a piano!” with his words, he shook his cane in the direction of the case, his free hand emphasizing his point further as his eyes locked on Tendo as the man started to chuckle, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “And what, precisely, is so funny?!” After another soft laugh, the man shook his head, idly straightening a suspender.

“I bet Pentecost, Mako and Raleigh a hundred each that you'd say that,” Newton laughed once, rather loudly from his area, but the mathematician just huffed, shoving his cane into one spot below him and folding his hands together on top of it.  
  
“And what, exactly, did they have each have to say on the matter, hm?”  
  
“Pentecost said he didn't care, that you'd take what you could get or you'd get nothing at all,” Tendo held up a finger for each that he listed as he went. “Mako said she was sure that you would understand how hard it would be to get an actual piano right now, and Raleigh said you could appreciate that the keyboard has a headphone jack.” Those were compelling points, Hermann would have to admit, but he settled for just glaring at him. “Either way, this is the best thing you're getting around here, so please don't be too perturbed, alright?” he offered an almost too cocky thumbs-up before leaving with the two men that had finished setting up the keyboard while he was talking. It was almost too clear how happy he was to leave the conversation, and lab, at that point and Newton was laughing. Gottlieb glared at the door for a long moment before turning his attention to the keyboard that was disturbing him merely with its existence, let alone presence.

“Pentecost got you a keyboard, huh?” Newton was finally walking over, deciding to fall into place just next to his colleague as he put his hands on his hips. “Those things can be pretty fun, you know. Got built in metronomes, audio recorders, and hundreds of different sounds and stuff...” Another long pause was followed by a quiet sigh.  
  
“Set it to piano sounds for me,” Hermann would say, softly and sounding quite defeated, leading Newt to realize that the other probably didn't actually know how to use one of them. He knew better than to ask, at least, instead moving over to the keyboard. He flicked the power on before pressing about five of the dozens of rubber buttons, tapping one of the white keys in a test. As a loud, drawn out note filled the quiet lab, the mathematician winced, hand twitching at his side. 

“Well...ah, there's volume control here,” Newt explained, gesturing to a knob to the right of the buttons, turning it down before continuing. “The jack's at the front if you want to use your earphones, and it looks like they already plugged the pedal set in, so...” he trailed off, taking a step back. “She's good to go,” he shrugged. It wasn't all that hard to understand, let alone the fact that there was a list of instructions on the side that listed all the codes to all the different noises... He assumed Hermann just didn't want to go near it because it wasn't a 'real piano' and his assumption was correct.

“Nn,” left the others mouth as he turned and walked away, concerning his lab partner for a moment before he realized he was just grabbing a chair to use. “Go and find something to do, please,” he threatened more than asked as he pushed the chair up to the keyboard and slowly sat, eyes scanning over the machine with all too clear disdain.  
  
“You got it, Herm,” his colleague had done that stupid double pistols thing with his fingers at him again and he knew it, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that just then. He made a soft, contemplative noise as he hooked his cane on the far side of the keyboard before tightly curling his fingers in on themselves and stretching them back out. 

He'd make this work. He had to. 


	2. Astute as Always, Newton.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Geiszler is far more considerate than Hermann Gottlieb gives him credit for.

Taking one last second to make sure the pedal was in the right location by his feet, the mathematician poised his fingers on the keys and started playing. Just scales at first as he warmed his fingers up, and tested the machine. Of course, it didn't sound exactly like a piano should, and he could hear the cheap plastic keys push into the device with soft thuds of hitting soft, probably felt, barrier below, and then popping back up with an equally as annoying sound, but he was determined. He closed his eyes as his fingers moved seamlessly into actually playing, mind focused on the sounds from the speakers instead of the cheap, intrusive noises.  
  
It wasn't long before he was barely paying attention to what he was playing, and focusing on the equation floating in his mind, the problem seeming to work itself out in time with his music which drew a contented smile to his face though he looked otherwise elsewhere at the moment. One could only imagine what Newton's face looked like as he watched from his own work station, but it didn't matter. Not right then. There was math in his head, music at his fingertips—good music, not that filth that Newton blared on his laptop speakers all day—and it finally felt like nothing could go wrong, even if his equation was based on giant monsters that loved to ruin large cities.  
  
“I do believe...I've found...my answer...” he murmured to himself as he allowed his frame to lean into his playing, his smile growing wider as he lifted his foot to press the keyboard's pedal for the twelfth or so time. However, when he pushed down this time, a sharp pain shot up his leg, drawing a sharp intake of air through his immediately clenched teeth, and an abrupt, messy clash of notes as he slammed all of his fingers into the keys, thumbs curling under the front of the keyboard to grip it tightly. He tried to hold onto it to ground himself from the pain as he pulled his leg back, mind crashing into a brick wall of the thought that something like this had never had before. His body was getting worse, and that pain only solidified what he'd been trying to ignore for years.  
  
“Yo, Herm....you alright over there?” the most annoying man in the world actually sounded concerned for him which made the situation worse in his eyes. It was clear Newton had been listening—and why shouldn't he have been, it was nice music up until that point—and thus had clearly heard, and been startled by the loud halt. He couldn't bring himself to even explain what had happened, though, forever insecure about his disabilities, how they were progressing, and more over, how others reacted to them.  
  
“I've...solved the secondary equation,” Hermann said quietly, doing his best to unclench his teeth, and the majority of the muscles in his body from how they had tensed in attempt to prevent the pain from spreading any further up his leg. With the tension, though, came a second pain, slightly less sharp but still noticeable there, between his shoulder blades and he knew he'd started to breathe harder from the pain but he could only hope his colleague was far enough away that it would go unseen.  
  
“That requires a keyboard mash, dude?” Newton was laughing then, but it was choppy and uneasy and made Hermann's stomach turn. He knew that Newt had realized something was wrong, that he was uncomfortable in some way. He knew and that was more frustrating than the problem itself. Pity was not something he looked for or enjoyed at all.  
  
Without another word, the mathematician pushed himself to his feet, thankful that the keyboard stand was actually supporting his weight for him, proving the stand was far sturdier than it looked. He scooped up his cane quickly, though, not willing to press his luck on the thing holding him for much longer. He was immediately leaning heavily onto the wood, his knuckles white from his grip as he started back toward his chalkboards, at a much slower pace than usual and a much more evident limp in his step. He focused on writing out the solution that he had managed to secure in his playing before he lost it again, but quickly sat on a desk chair that was near-by. He did his best not to make a show of it, but he shoved his palm into his thigh, face contorting in pain as he added pressure in an attempt to alleviate what pain was lingering. Rolling his wrist in a kneading motion, he moved down his thigh to, and past his knee to knead down along his calf muscle. If he'd seen, Newton didn't say anything, and Dr. Gottlieb could appreciate the effort it must have taken him.

* * *

It was just a fluke. Something that happens when you fall out of practice with an instrument. That was all. Or at least that's what Hermann had convinced himself about the pain he'd dealt with for two days after his first keyboard session. The only way back into seamless, and painless playing was to get back into it...

The thought made him incredibly nervous, though, if he were honest with himself. Was it going to hurt like that again? What if he hurt his leg even worse and put himself out of commission for longer than two days, or worse, out of commission entirely? He couldn't afford that; no one could. Not now, and not at all. He put it off as long as he could, working through the day and into the night just to give himself an excuse to not play—oh, he didn't have the time with all that math that needed done—but eventually, he ran into another missing puzzle piece, his only option left being to return to the music.

He almost glared at the chalkboard in offense when he realized. How could his numbers betray him like that? Forcing his hand that way... He glanced over his shoulder at the keyboard in the corner, staring a moment before glancing to Newton who was prattling on to himself and a voice recorder running on his laptop. A determined looked crossed his face, then, as he moved across the room to sit himself down at the keyboard. Purposefully hooking his cane on to the same spot as the last time, he stretched out both hands, before holding them but an inch from the keys. He tried to ignore just how shaky they were as he slowly set them down, annoyed with himself for being so nervous about this, but with that sort of pain on the line, he couldn't blame himself. In the back of his mind he registered that Newton had stopped talking but assumed he was just lost in thought like he usually was. He wasn't vain enough to guess that Newt had actually stopped to listen to, and watch him, that last time having startled and concerned him.  
  
With a deep breath, the mathematician played his scales before effortlessly transitioning into one of his favorite pieces. At first, he didn't even need to use the pedals under the instrument, and that made it far easier to concentrate on the math hanging in his mind instead of the fear of pain, but as it came time to press the pedal for the first time, he hesitated. The music slowed as he first started with a tentative positioning of his foot, lifting it just enough to clear the pedal before pushing it down. It wasn't a sharp pain, likely because he was expecting it and going slow, but the way the muscles began to pull in a very tell-tale manner, he immediately retracted his foot, hands falling into his lap.

All through his life, music, and more-so playing it, had always been his escape when he needed it, whether to concentrate harder on something or just block out the world for a few minutes, and his body was taking it away from him. Not completely yet, he knew, but if it was already this off-putting, he wasn't sure he wouldn't be able to bring himself to continue. He stared at the keys for a long moment before slowly getting to his feet, and taking up his cane. He pursed his lips as he reached to press the keyboard's power button in pained resignation, turning then to return to his chalkboard. He'd work through the problem without music this time, and likely every time after, it was that simple. If simple is what you could call a major change in your life. Idly licking his lips to keep his expression in check, he scooped up his previously replaced piece of chalk and held it up to the board, eyes shifting from the pale green to his hand itself as it shook enough to rapidly, although quietly, tap the piece on the surface. He clenched his teeth, gripped the chalk a bit tighter and marked the board.

“It's degenerative, isn't it?” he barely heard his colleague ask from across the room as he came to the end of a sequence. His eyes slipped closed as his fingers faltered at the board again, prompting him to rest his wrist on the surface as he shifted his weight to lean more heavily on his cane in his other hand. With such a direct question so genuinely asked in a tone that he couldn't even begin to get angry with, Hermann was basically backed into a corner when it came to responses.

“Astute as always, Newton,” the mathematician said as steadily as he could, eyes opening in order to focus back on what he was writing. If he didn't continue, he'd surely be unable to keep a straight voice. It was a touchy subject. “But...yes.” he forced himself to swallow his pride and the lump in his throat. “It's currently in two places in the lumbar region my spine. It will only get worse; continuing to spread upward. There is no cure, no preventative measures. Only... pain management.”  
  
“Is it...hereditary, or...?” Newton was usually so eager to ask questions, but it was clear that he knew Hermann was uncomfortable with the topic so he would tread as lightly as he could. Gottlieb shook his head as his eyes focused far too intently on the white lines he was contrasting the pale green board with.  
  
“There was an accident. Just over a year before we began working with each other,” what he was writing wasn't even an equation anymore, he noticed, simply random numbers and functions, but he wouldn't stop; not while they were having this particular conversation. He'd just erase them later. “I was young and foolish, did inadvisable things. What happened cracked three lumbar vertebrae, and tore through the discs between each. They healed well enough at the time, but... the trauma caused a proverbial 'domino effect' of deterioration, nerve pinching and various other inconveniences that are slowly--”

“--moving up your spine,” his colleague finished his sentence for him with an apologetic tone to the words that made the mathematician sigh. Pity. He took a moment to tap the chalk on the board a few times, just trying not to think of what Newt was going to tell anyone, or worse, start trying to do for him. He was still able to function in day to day life, and he'd appreciate being left to do so until he physically couldn't any more.

“Newton, I would appreciate if we changed the subject,” he said just after the chalk broke under the pressure of his fingers. He scooped up another piece for the box on the tiny ledge at the base of the board.  
  
“One more question and I promise I will?” the other asked tentatively. He could usually handle an 'only one more' type situation but the subject matter and his conversational partner made him nervous to know what the last question was. If it would end the conversation, though, he'd have to allow it.

“...granted. What is it?” he braced himself for the worst possible question, though unsure of what exactly 'the worst' was. It couldn't be worse than what he already explained, could it?

“Ahh... how long do you think it'll be before it, ah...affects your arms?” Well, that one wasn't the worst, per se, but it was certainly up there, wasn't it? How long until he couldn't use his arms? Why would he ever have wanted to think about that, let alone come up with an estimation for it? Closing his eyes tightly, he brought his hand back from the board, pushing the back of his shaking hand into his forehead and allowed himself a moment to think. It had been, what, ten years now? And although impeding his walking and a few other leg-muscle-intensive activities, it was only just beginning to his playing. If it continued at this rate, he would have...

“A roughly estimated ten to fifteen years,” he rubbed the back of his wrist back and forth on his forehead a couple time before letting it return to the chalkboard. “If I'm kind to my body, and very lucky.”

“...Alright.” Newt nodded a bit, though it was obvious that Hermann wouldn't be able to see it. The mathematician was almost surprised that his lab partner actually let it drop then, the other man proceeding to spout of some things he'd learned in his most recent conquest of the piece of kaiju anatomy in front of himself. A tired, but appreciative smile pulled at his lips as he actually listened to the ramblings.

* * *

“Herms, Herms, wake up, I've got a surprised for you in the lab!” It was a week or so later that Gottlieb had actually gone back to his barracks to attempt to get a fair amount of sleep, when Newt would be pounding on his door, far too early, and demanding things of him. As a matter of fact, what time was it even? Rubbing the back of his head and neck as he sat up, Hermann glanced to the alarm clock settled on the crude excuse of a bedside table. Glaring blue text greeted his tired eyes from the darkness with an unsettling '4:30am'. He stared at it a long moment, just trying to comprehend how Newton had thought this was even remotely an acceptable time to wake someone if it wasn't an emergency.

“I'm going to kill him,” he muttered as he grabbed his cane from where it was leaning against the side table and a comfortable bathrobe from a hook he passed on the way out. He pushed the door open with his back as he tied the terrycloth robe around his waist, hobbling into the lab with a tired disdain all over his face. “This had better be important, Dr. Geiszler,” he tried not to growl as he glanced around, only to have his eyes fall on Newton, a shit-eating grin on his face as he bounced on his heels, arms crossed on his chest.  
  
“I thought it was, dude.” he offered a bit of a shrug which only warranted a further glare from the mathematician. “Well, check it out!” he was saying all too brightly for what time it was, as he took a step to the side, unblocking the view of...a cello? Natural wood grain, and resting neatly in a metal stand. Hermann's eyes widened a bit, wondering just where Newton had gotten a cello from, why it was here, and why exactly he was presenting in this manner. His surprised confusion must have been written on his face, because it was only a few moments of silence before his lab partner started talking again.

“A cello!” Well, that was obvious, Newton, yes. He was making far too wild hand gestures as he continued. “I just figured...you know. A cello's still a pretty classical kind of instrument and you like classical music--like playing it, and you know, sometimes need to for your math and stuff--and you've got a pretty steep learning curve for things you enjoy, just like me, and it...barely uses the legs, if at all, and I mean, with a good fifteen years left in your arms, with a cello, you could still...play the music...you enjoy,” he trailed off then, one hand coming to the back of his neck to rub at it sheepishly. Hermann looked from the cello to him, and back, both eyebrows raised in a fair bit of surprise.

“You...got this...for me...?” To play, because it doesn't require...leg use... He was speechless. This was a ridiculously kind gesture and...obnoxiously thoughtful. He wasn't sure how to take it.  
  
“Well..yeah. I was looking into violins at first, you know, they're usually accepted as more common or something, I guess, but I was thinking, you'd have to hold your wrist up like this,” he made a weird face as he held his hands up in mime of a violin, over-emphasizing the angle one's wrist needed to be in. “And that's like, a lot of wear and tear on the poor wrist, and that's none-to-kind, you know? I was afraid of it maybe being too much...” He dropped his hands with a shrug shortly after. “But for a cello, you keep your hands and arms in front of you this way,” he mimed this action as well, offering up a grin. “So it's a lot easier, and a lot less wear and tear on the wrists. And I can teach you how to play it, if you need me to, I used to play.” Hermann stared at him for a moment longer than necessary, a soft, appreciative smile slowly pulling onto his features. This man, that was usually so annoying, had gone out of his way to find something just right for his needs and interests, just to give him back the escape he needed sometimes. He couldn't even begin to expressed the amount of gratitude deserved, so he settled for a simple...

“...Thank you, Newton.”


End file.
